


Soothe This Ache

by Triangulum



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Peter Hale, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Fluff, M/M, Menstruation, Omega Stiles Stilinski, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-23
Updated: 2017-09-23
Packaged: 2019-01-04 09:15:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12165954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Triangulum/pseuds/Triangulum
Summary: Stiles really hates his fucking period. He doesn't give a flying fuck about how his health teachers have always cooed about how 'natural and beautiful' it is. At the end of the day, it's his damn uterus trying to strangle him from the inside out and blood rushing out of him, and anyone who says otherwise can get fucked.And, because he has the best luck of anyone, he also has the mother of all colds. He's spent the last two days huddled under his blankets, with a heating pad over his lower stomach and a bottle Nyquil within reach. Scott had called earlier asking if he's coming to the pack meeting, and Stiles had just groaned into the phone, said no, and hung up.OrStiles is sick, on his period, and just wants his blankets. What he ends up with is Peter.





	Soothe This Ache

**Author's Note:**

> So it turns out I've never written A/B/O before? And yeah this doesn't really delve into it or anything, but it exists! My toe is in the water! And it's completely self-pitying because I'm sick and feel like death, so sue me.

There are a lot of things that Stiles hates about being an omega. He hates that everyone assumes he's weak, he hates the people who treat him as a lesser being, and he hates that he'll have to fight twice as hard to be recognized as equal in any field to a mediocre alpha. He hates having to rearrange his life around his heats (he's on better suppressants now, so at least that's been better lately). But right now he really hates his fucking period. 

Stiles doesn't give a flying fuck about how his health teachers have always cooed about how 'natural and beautiful' it is. At the end of the day, it's his damn uterus trying to strangle him from the inside out and blood rushing out of him, and anyone who says otherwise can get fucked. 

And, because he has the best luck of anyone, he also has the mother of all colds. He's spent the last two days huddled under his blankets, with a heating pad over his lower stomach and a bottle Nyquil within reach. Scott had called earlier asking if he's coming to the pack meeting, and Stiles had just groaned into the phone, said no, and hung up. 

That had been an hour or so ago and Stiles had been under the impression that with his did at work, he'd have the house to himself so he could wallow in self pity alone. The knock on the front door seems to disagree with him, though. Stiles ignores it, and the doorbell that follows. He stuffs his head under his pillow and groans loudly. He keeps his head like that, hiding from the world and the noises that come with it, until it gets a little hard to breath and he has to surface for air. 

And promptly scream when he sees Peter Hale standing at the end of his bed.

"What the fuck?" Stiles shouts. Well, he tries to shout. He feels like he deep throated a cactus and his voice is fighting it, so it comes out more as rough gravel.

"Scott was worried about you," Peter says. "And I can see why."

"So he sent _you?_ " Stiles asks.

"No, I sent myself," Peter admits. "Out of the kindness of my own heart."

"Sure," Stiles says with a snort and flops back onto the bed. 

Yeah, Peter had startled the fuck out of him at first, but he's not a threat. Well, not a threat to Stiles. It would be a deadly mistake to dismiss Peter as not dangerous. He and Stiles have become something like friends though, and Stiles is pretty sure if he were about to be murdered, Peter wouldn't have bothered to announce his presence first. Well, maybe he would...Peter does like the drama. A deep, heaving cough wracks through Stiles and he stops caring about if Peter is going to murder him because his lungs seem to be doing the job just fine on their own.

"You sound wonderful," Peter says. His voice is a lot closer than it was before and when Stiles opens his eyes, Peter's standing only a few feet away, looking at Stiles critically.

"I haven't showered in three days, so I smell even worse," Stiles says. 

Peter's nostrils flare and he breathes in. "No, you smell good. You smell fertile," Peter says.

Stiles turns his head and groans into his pillow. "I've heard that a lot, thanks for that," he says. "Telling you omega packmate he smells good and fertile, that's great and not awkward at all."

Peter shrugs. "Would you prefer a lie?" he asks. "Or me to comment on the smell of the mountain of tissues in your trashcan?"

"You could not comment period?" Stiles says. "Ugh, I don't even want to think about the word period."

Peter rolls his eyes, but his look morphs into one of concern as Stiles starts violently hacking, curling into his side as it jars his ribs, which are sore from all the coughing. It also has the unpleasant side effect of causing more blood to flow out him and just fuck his life. 

"Okay, you see I'm not dead, you can go now," Stiles says, eyes closed. Instead of hearing the footsteps of Peter leaving, Stiles hears a sigh, then two twin thumps of his shoes hitting the floor. A second later, Peter is sitting on the bed next to Stiles, poking him in the side. "What?"

"Move over," Peter says. 

Stiles grumbles but scooches over, giving Peter room to lie down next to him. Peter curls around Stiles' back, wrapping an arm around his waist. It's not the first time they've done this. No, the first time was the anniversary of the fire when Peter and Derek had been picking at each other all day and when Derek had finally left in a huff, Stiles had practically manhandled Peter until they were lying together, Peter wrapped around Stiles. Stiles didn't know if it was the omega pheromones he gave off that helped calm Peter down, but it had worked. A few days later, after dozing off at the loft, Stiles woke from a nightmare to being held in Peter's arms. Again, not sure if it's to do with the fact that Peter's an alpha and already smells really fucking good to Stiles, but he hadn't fought it and had taken his comfort in the form it was given.

What is new is Peter's hand slipping under the hem of Stiles' shirt to rest lightly on his lower belly. Stiles freezes, not sure if he wants to yell 'bad touch' or press closer to the warm hand, but then the horrible cramps that have been twisting at him for the last few days ease and Stiles feels like he can breathe again. He looks down and sees the blackness of his pain traveling up the veins in Peter's arm. Stiles hums and closes his eyes, letting Peter tug him closer.

"Thanks," Stiles says softly. "Does it hurt you to do?"

"Not really," Peter says.

"Not really sounds like a fancy way of not wanting to say yes," Stiles says.

Peter huffs out a laugh against the back of Stiles' neck. "I feel it, but it's a shadow of the pain you'd feel. Brief and then gone," Peter says.

"Oh, good. I mean, as much as I love this not hurting, I wouldn't wish it on anyone," Stiles says. "Well, some people. Isaac, probably."

"Naturally," Peter says. "But not me?"

"No, you're all right, I guess," Stiles says. He blames the pain drain for making him loopy, or maybe the proximity to a certain alpha, but he keeps talking. "I guess I kind of like you sometimes."

"I kind of like you, too," Peter says, just a touch of amusement in his voice.

"You say that now. I snore when I'm sick. In about twenty minutes you're going to wish you'd never met me," Stiles grumbles, then spends another ten seconds coughing.

"I think I'll live," Peter says. "Just go to sleep, you need it."

"Can't tell me what to do," Stiles says, but he's very aware of how sleepy he is and how much energy it's taking to even keep talking. "You obnoxiously perfect alpha. Such bullshit."

"Mmhmm, you can tell me all about that when you wake up," Peter says. He nuzzles the back of Stiles' neck and keep drawing out Stiles' pain until he can't feel even a hint of the bruised ribs or debilitating cramps. He thinks he feels Peter's lips against the nape of his neck before he falls asleep, but he's not sure if it's real or not. He'll deal with it tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on [ tumblr ](http://www.hotpinklizard.tumblr.com).


End file.
